Adultery The Swamiji: The Ashram of the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

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Ahalya’s heart quickened at the words. "This is it," she thought, the weight of the moment settling over her like a fine mist.
 
"What will he say? What does he see in me?" Her breath came a little faster, though her body remained still, as if her soul had taken an unspoken breath to prepare for what was to come. Stillness had become a discipline.
 
The thoughts whirled inside her, "Was she ready? Would she live up to his expectations? Was there anything left of herself to offer?"
 
Meera led her through the Ashram, their footsteps soft against the stone paths. The sun had just begun its ascent, filtering through the dense canopy of the forest and casting dappled light on the ground.
 
Light and shadow moved together here, inseparable. Everything seemed quieter than usual, as though the Ashram itself had fallen into some collective anticipation.
 
Ahalya's pulse was steady, but beneath it, there was a flutter of excitement, a nervousness she hadn’t expected. "Why am I nervous?" she asked herself. "Is it because of him? Or because of what he might ask me to do next?"
 
They reached the administrative building, and Meera gestured for her to enter. The room was as simple as she had imagined, yet still imbued with a quiet sense of power.
 
The walls were lined with ancient books, some sacred texts, others journals, their spines worn with use, the paper inside yellowed with age. Knowledge here felt accumulated, layered, heavy with intention.
 
At the center of the room was a low table and cushions, placed with precision, as if even the arrangement of furniture held meaning. The scent of old wood, dust, and incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint sound of the river flowing just beyond the window.
 
The atmosphere felt like an altar, and she was the supplicant.
 
Gurujii sat cross-legged on one of the cushions, facing the window, where the light surrounded him like an aura.
 
He appeared less like a man and more like a presence.
 
Ahalya felt a slight pull in her chest, as if something inside her recognized the stillness in him.
 
His silver hair gleamed faintly, and when he turned to look at her, his eyes were steady, penetrating, as though he could see something beyond her surface, beyond the mask she had carefully crafted.
 
"His gaze feels like a touch," she thought, "as if he is reaching for something buried deep within me."
 
"Ahalya. Please, sit."

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